Missing Moments
by brickroad16
Summary: Missing moments from various episodes. Chapter 5 - episode 2.03, "Goblin's Gold." M/M love/hate.
1. Valiant

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the S1 DVDs.

A/N: This is set to 'complete' for now, but as I rewatch episodes, I may add to it.

I'm officially done with school, so this is my celebration present! Lol, with summer here, I'll hopefully be able to write a bit more, or at least finish the stories I have in mind.

* * *

Morgana sweeps down the corridor, purple satin skirts flowing around her ankles. A familiar face out in courtyard catches her attention, and she doubles back to the window to peer out curiously, leaning forward slightly as she tries to make sense of what she sees. Arthur's new manservant, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and her own handmaiden, hands on her hips, stare at something beyond her view. Lifting herself onto her toes and craning her head for a better look, she narrows her eyes in confusion when she notices that they're contemplating a statue of a dog.

As her heels touch the ground again, an incomprehensible ache settles in her chest, one that only increases when Merlin and Gwen work together to lift the statue into a nearby wheelbarrow.

What she would give to share a friendship like that.

Gwen is her friend, certainly, her most cherished companion. She's the one she shares her nightmares with, the one she laughs with. But there's a barrier between them that neither ever acknowledges. At the end of the day, Morgana's the one with the fancy gowns and the priceless jewelry; Gwen's the one with the callused hands and the two-room house.

Gwen's the one with friends.

Friends like Merlin, who, despite being in Camelot for only a short time, is quickly proving himself loyal to a fault. If he'd seemed unhappy with his appointment as Arthur's manservant, the accusations brought against Sir Valiant this morning surely show who has his allegiance.

He is Arthur's man, through and through, even after just a few days.

She loves Gwen as if she were her own sister, but how can she ever hope to win such affection? She won't fool herself into believing that Gwen would ever choose her over a friend like Merlin, or, even less likely, she'd be good enough to deserve a friend like him.

And as she watches them now, watches Merlin dash off with the wheelbarrow and Gwen send him a last laugh and wave, the ache wells up until she cannot bear it, until she can barely breathe.

* * *

Gwen is already there when she returns to her chambers, humming contentedly as she works. Morgana walks over to the table, pours herself a glass of wine, and tries to ignore the soft smile on Gwen's face.

She gulps down a mouthful of wine, the liquid cool and tangy. Gwen says she drinks too much, and she's probably right, given the way it can so easily weaken her judgment and loosen her tongue.

She prefers to think that it bolsters her courage.

"Gwen."

The maid pauses in her work and looks up. "Yes, my lady?"

"You're . . . friends with Merlin. What do you think of him?"

Gwen purses her lips as she folds a sheet. "He is . . . unusual, but very kind. He has a good heart."

"Do you think he's telling the truth about Valiant?"

Gwen hesitates before returning to folding. Morgana sees the conflict in her eyes, enough to guess what her answer will be.

Or would be, if she had the courage to say it, but a servant cannot speak against a knight (unless that servant's name happens to be Merlin).

Morgana takes another sip of wine and says, "Come, Gwen. You may say it. You have nothing to fear from me."

"I know," Gwen sighs, sitting down on the window sill. "Valiant fights well. He's a good knight."

"But?"

"But I don't think Merlin would lie, not about something like this." She gazes up at Morgana curiously. "Why? Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"I'm having the same dilemma," Morgana confesses, tapping her goblet with her forefinger and twirling contemplatively on the stone floor. "I don't understand how a man could be so different from what he seems . . . But at the same time, I can't imagine a servant who would make false accusations."

"No," Gwen agrees quickly, "Merlin wouldn't do that."

Morgana stops revolving and looks up with a smile. "No. And if it were you, I would trust you." Gwen smiles shyly, but Morgana continues, "And if you trust Merlin, then I trust him as well. And so should Arthur."

"Respectfully, my lady, but I've been in your service for close to ten years now. Merlin hasn't been the prince's manservant for even ten days yet."

Morgana lets out a breath and regards her maid with a frown. "The problem is that he's too damn stubborn. He knows now that something is . . . _off_ with Valiant, and yet he insists on fighting in this silly tournament."

"He is a knight; that's what he does. But hopefully Merlin will figure something out."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, he said he was going to find a way to make everyone believe him."

Morgana chuckles and leans a hip against the table. "With the dog statue?"

"Yes," Gwen answers, glancing up in surprise. "How did you . . ."

"I saw you out the window," she smiles. Her smile fades as she thinks of the coming morn. "But if we are up against Valiant and our only weapon is a statue of a dog . . ."

She trails off, lets the implication hang in the air.

Gwen chuckles softly. "I told you he was unusual."

* * *

Morgana sits in the grandstand beside Gwen and tries not to look as if she's about to lose her stomach. The blood runs out of her cheeks as Arthur blocks Valiant's blow with his shield and a _thwack_ resounds through the air. There's a hush in the stadium that speaks to the cold fear in her heart.

She can't get it out of her mind – the dream, the vision of a slain Arthur. And on top of that, Merlin's accusations against Valiant seem only to reinforce what she's seen. If the knight is using magic, then Arthur stands no chance.

He's faltering. They've discarded their helmets, and even from where she sits Morgana can see the sweat on his brow. Tensing, she sucks in a breath as Valiant presses his attack and Arthur grimaces as he struggles to parry the relentless blows. But Valiant is older, stronger, and he pushes forward angrily, smashing Arthur in the jaw with his shield and knocking him to the ground.

The prince, his shield pinned beneath Valiant's boot, rolls to avoid a mortal blow. He bounds to his feet, but Valiant attacks so violently that his sword goes flying to the dirt. Arthur, left without a weapon, charges and pins Valiant's arms. The older knight lets out a cry and pushes the prince against the wall of the stadium. With a mighty effort, Arthur lands a punch on his jaw, forcing him backward.

But Valiant's the one with the sword.

And then, just when she begins to lose hope, his serpent-adorned shield comes to life with a hiss.

A gasp runs through the spectators, now on their feet.

A look of confusion and fury crosses the dark-haired knight's face, but Arthur takes the opportunity to scurry out of his compromised position.

But his sword, so far out of reach, might as well be back in its sheath at the armory.

With barely a thought, Morgana lifts a neighboring knight's sword from its scabbard at his hip and tosses it to her prince with a cry.

He turns swiftly, catches it, and pivots just in time to slice off the heads of the snakes that have emerged from Valiant's shield. Suddenly the tide of the contest has turned, and within a moment, Arthur is hugging Valiant to him, his sword plunged through the opposing knight's stomach.

Morgana lets out a shaky breath before joining in the applause. Arthur throws his borrowed sword to the dirt and gazes up at his father for the approval he so desperately craves. She smiles, applauds dutifully, but finds it hard to banish the feeling that he's cheated fate.

* * *

Morgana strolls slowly around the hall, still in a snit from her earlier conversation with Arthur, her emerald eyes observant but focused on no particular object. As much as she enjoys dressing in her finest and being escorted by the tournament champion, she derives little pleasure from the company of courtiers.

She lets out a sigh just as her gaze lands on Arthur's manservant, hiding in a corner with a pilfered goblet of wine. A grin spreads across her lips as she automatically changes direction and strolls toward him.

"Merlin," she greets happily.

There's a healthy flush in his normally pale cheeks, and his answering grin is a little too crooked to be entirely sober. He drops an unsteady bow.

"My lady!" he replies.

She tilts her head. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Just the one." He laughs, "I'm not really supposed to be drinking at all until the guests are finished, and Arthur said he wouldn't buy me a drink."

"So you pinched a glass?"

Merlin nods with a wide smile and takes another sip of wine.

"Well," Morgana chuckles, nipping the goblet out of his loose grip, "I suppose I should congratulate you. You were right about Valiant after all."

Merlin purses his lips, a far-off look in his eyes, and doesn't answer right away. She scrutinizes him, tries to understand what's going on behind those eyes, so startlingly blue, the gold flecks hinting at the depth of what he leaves hidden.

He wears clothes that are too big for him, his lanky frame nearly swallowed in his oversized work jacket. He's clumsy, barely able to walk down a corridor without tripping over his own feet. He talks too much, chattering away to anyone who will spare an ear while he grinds away at his chores. He's got a goofy grin, and a mop of unruly hair, and big ears.

But those eyes.

No servant should have eyes that enchanting.

She takes a small step back before she loses herself in those eyes, but Merlin, still distracted by his own thoughts, doesn't notice. She clears her throat, and he tears his gaze back to her with a sheepish smile.

"Arthur is lucky to have you as a friend," Morgana tells him.

Blushing furiously, Merlin rubs at the back of his neck. "It was the right thing to do."

"Perhaps, but it's not every servant who would risk his livelihood to protect a prince who undervalues him."

Merlin chuckles. "Someone's got to look after him; he can't seem to do it himself."

Morgana bites her lip, stares at him thoughtfully. "And who will look after you?"

His smile falters before he shrugs and replies, "I'm not the one who needs a servant, am I?"

"A servant, no. But a friend? Everyone could do with a friend, surely."

There it is again, that elusive gift known as friendship.

Merlin's gaze pierces her. He purses his lips a little and prompts softly, "Including you?"

She takes a sip from his wine goblet and holds it up to him. "Thank you for the wine, Merlin. Perhaps you should get back to your duties, now that you're in Arthur's service again."

He inclines his head, all trace of intoxication gone but a knowing smile still gracing his lips. "Good night, my lady."

Morgana strolls away, that now-familiar ache residing in her chest. Feeling his eyes on her as she goes, she wills herself not to look back. If she does, she'll lose herself in visions of what could never be.

After all, he's just a servant.


	2. To Kill the King

A/N: You can blame my recent creative outburst on my lack of a life, haha. I don't have any definite plans for this series. There are a few episodes I've rewatched that I'd like to include eventually (1.04, 2.08), so we'll see.

This chapter takes place during episode 1.12, "To Kill the King." (Also, can I just say how much I love that title? I don't know why; I just do.)

* * *

He comes to visit when she's in the dungeon.

Moonlight streaks in through the bars on the window, hits his deep blue eyes, illuminates those beautiful cheekbones, and all she can think is: _It's my fault_.

She doesn't care about being locked up, doesn't care that she will have marks on her wrist from the shackles Uther's thrown her in. What she cares about is Gwen. All she was trying to do was make everything right. Gwen's been her only friend in Camelot. She's been her rock when the nightmares have gotten too much, when her relationship with Uther has become too strained.

She simply wanted to be worthy of that friendship.

Why does everything she touch turn to ash?

Gwen is so good, but she sometimes feels as if she is cursed, that the power she feels growing inside her is a dark, terrifying one that she won't be able to control.

She slips back into the shadows, resting her head against the cool stone of the wall and swallowing down her tears. Merlin settles quietly onto the straw beside her.

"I brought you some supper," he tells her quietly, holding a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a cup of wine toward her.

"I'm not hungry."

Frowning, he sets the plate on the floor, but he doesn't say anything.

He just sits there, staring at the guard outside the door and picking at the straw like they're spending a pleasant day in the forest.

It's infuriating, his patience.

But then she begins to imagine what a day spent doing nothing with him would be like, and she finds herself calming down.

She doesn't know what to say to him, this clumsy, enigmatic boy who seems to know what she's thinking, to know what is in her tortured heart. Sometimes he looks at her with those devastating eyes of his, and there is a pang inside her that says he is the light to her dark, the calm to her storm. They are kindred souls, and yet he is so much better.

No matter her good intentions, she always seems to cause chaos.

But Merlin . . .

Merlin has not only the intentions but the means. He may be merely a servant, but she has seen the influence he has on Arthur, on all the knights, the servants.

She cannot find proper words, so she asks, "How is Gwen?"

"You know Gwen," he murmurs. "Strong, but . . . still hurting."

Morgana's lips twitch. "It is my fault," she confesses in a whisper. "I'm responsible for her pain."

Merlin turns his head sharply. She fixes her gaze straight ahead, but she can feel his eyes on her. As the king's ward, she used to special treatment – from men, from everyone – but he has an inadvertent way of making her feel small, worthless.

"What do you mean?" he queries gently.

Sighing, she turns her head to regard him sadly. "Gwen's father, his death. I gave him the key to his cell. I was the reason he tried to escape. You and I both know he wouldn't have been given a fair trial. It's _my_ fault that he's dead."

"Morgana . . ." he breathes, shaking his head incredulously.

Hesitantly, he leans forward, and Morgana sinks against his awkward embrace. She lifts her arms to his chest, and the links of her chains clank together, a dismal sound in the hush night.

"You are not to blame," Merlin begins cautiously. "You may have given him the key, but you didn't force him to escape."

She shakes her head, the wool of his shirt scratching her forehead. "But without me, he never would have been able to try at all."

Setting his jaw, Merlin slides a finger beneath her chin and lifts her head. "But just think, Morgana. Without you, Tom would have gone to trial, and you said it yourself, Uther had already condemned him."

She sniffles, wipes the tears from her eyes, and pulls away from him. "I am the king's ward," she says. "I should be able to do something to make this right."

Merlin lets out a breath and stares contemplatively at his feet.

Morgana pushes him gently on the shoulder and chastises, "You're supposed to make me feel better!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, my lady," he apologizes with a soft, sober laugh. He picks up the wine goblet and offers it to her. "Maybe this will help."

Chuckling, she takes a swig of the liquid, relishes the pleasant feeling of warmth as it slides down her throat. She rests her head against the wall and holds out the goblet.

"Here," she says gently. "You look like you could use some as well."

And indeed, he looks just as worn-out and broken down as she feels.

For the first time since he stepped through her cell door, she notices the circles below his eyes, his messy hair, his disheveled clothing. Unless she's mistaken, he hasn't slept a wink either.

Taking the goblet gratefully, he swallows down three big gulps.

"You know," she teases softly, "maybe you should take away this stew and just bring a wine jug for us."

"I'll see what I can do," he promises, even as his cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, long enough for her to begin to wonder why exactly he's here.

Listening to an owl hoots sorrowfully outside the window, Morgana questions, "Do you ever wonder if we're meant to have a purpose in life?"

Merlin regards her curiously, and there's an expression in those unfathomable blue eyes that she can't read. "Do you mean, like a destiny?" he asks.

"Maybe. I don't know," she shrugs. "But a purpose, something to let me know that I'm meant for more than being the king's lovely ward."

The last part comes out more bitterly than she means it to, but her anger has been simmering for hours now without someone like Merlin to check it. It's funny how she lets her temper run unimpeded around everyone, and then a simple servant comes around and makes her feel like she could be so much better than her angry, futile outbursts.

"Morgana . . ." he breathes. "You are so much more than that. You . . ."

When he stops himself, she looks over at him, intrigued. "What? What were you going to say?"

He has that same indecipherable look on his face as he did when they were hiding the Druid boy in her room, when she had dared to discuss the forbidden topic of magic. Now, as then, he strikes her as more of a mystery than she can even begin to uncover.

"Nothing," he swallows. He pushes the cup toward her. "You should finish the wine. I drank too much."

"How considerate," she smiles teasingly.

"It will be better, you know, when Arthur is king."

"And for now?"

"For now . . . we find a way to make this right, or as right as we can." He reaches out and fiddles with manacle around her right wrist. A smirk tugging at his lips, he adds, "A way that doesn't get you thrown in the dungeon again, that is."

She smiles as he rises and brushes off his trousers. He stoops down to collect her uneaten meal.

"Merlin?" He looks to her, and she pauses before saying, "Thank you."

Merlin nods, a smile on his lips, and says, "Of course. Would you like me to try to get you some more wine?"

"No," she replies with a shake of her head. "It's late. You've had a long day, and you should get some rest."

"You should as well. I know it's not exactly what you're used to, but the straw isn't so bad. I promise."

She chuckles. "Thank you for visiting, Merlin."

"I'll talk to Arthur about getting you released."

Morgana smiles, leaning back against the wall and murmuring, "Goodnight, Merlin."

"Good night, my lady." He drops a hasty bow before disappearing through the door, and the smile fades from Morgana's lips.

He is right. He usually is – a tendency which Arthur finds annoying and Morgana finds intriguing.

She is more than what she is made out to be. She is more than simply the king's ward, a spoiled royal who cannot understand suffering. She knows what it is to lose, and to hope, and to love. She doesn't understand how Uther came to be so full of hate, how a boy who has so little came to possess a heart full of such goodness.

What she does understand is the haunting look of despair that is ever-present in Gwen's eyes.

She may not be fully to blame for this, but she _can_ do something to put it to rights.


	3. Beauty and the Beast, Part One

Missing moment from episode 2.05, "Beauty and the Beast." You'll see what I mean, but it takes place _before _Merlin finds out Catrina's a troll, lol.

P.S. One quote is completely snagged from one of my favorite series, MWT's _The Thief_. :)

* * *

She turns a corner and finds him at the end of the hallway, perched on the window ledge as he eats a shiny red apple and peers out into the courtyard. The sight of him, the fading afternoon sunlight catching his dark hair, stops her for a moment.

And then she regains her senses and strolls toward him.

"Hiding from Arthur, are we?"

Merlin lifts his head, a quick smile coming to his face and crinkling his eyes as he notices her.

"And from Gaius," he laughs, "although not so much 'hiding' as . . . 'being remiss in my duties while still appearing to be ready for my next chore.'"

Morgana joins in his easy laughter. She hasn't really seen him these past few weeks, and she's forgotten how charming he can be.

"Well," she assures him, "your secret's safe with me."

He opens his mouth to mumble a thank you, but the words seem to get lost on his lips. A blush rises to his angular cheeks as he stares at the toes of his scuffed-up boots. She examines him unabashedly, reveling in the chance to take him in with no extraneous observers there to chastise her, and when she inhales a deep breath to steady herself, she can smell the pungent, tangy sweetness of the apple he's already half-eaten.

"That looks delicious," she says to break the silence.

Unbidden, a daydream of them picnicking in an apple orchard comes to mind, the sunlight shining as it hits his hair in just the way it does now.

"I'm sorry, milady. If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have nicked _two_ apples from the kitchens," he tells her with a sparkle in his eye. "Would you like me to go down and nip one for you?"

She shakes her head. "That's all right. I think I'm perfectly capable of getting an apple for myself."

He grins. "Yeah, and I bet you don't even have to avoid Cook to get extra food. I bet he'd even offer it to you himself, and wouldn't chase you out of the kitchens with a broom like you were a stray dog."

Morgana chuckles at the thought of Cook, big and burly and gruff, wielding a broom as Merlin's lithe figure darts around the ovens with his plunder clutched in lean, thin fingers. But her smile fades slightly at the mention of the discrepancy in their statuses. To avoid further confusion, she clears her throat, takes a step forward, and follows his gaze out the window arch.

The sound of horses' hooves float toward their alcove as the king and Lady Catrina return from a ride.

"What do you think of her?" she asks curiously.

She's not sure what to make of Uther's sudden interest in this woman, but she's come to respect Merlin's opinion.

"I think she's wonderful," he replies, his voice a little too besotted for her taste.

"Really?" she asks, lifting a brow and looking over at him.

And then she recognizes the dazed expression on his face. It's the one he always wears when Camelot receives visitors. _Pretty_ visitors, she's somewhat loath to admit.

This doesn't really surprise her, because Merlin is a country boy and she swiftly became accustomed to the way all the male servants go slightly foolish when they see a pretty face.

But (and it's rare moments when she will admit this even to herself) what bothers her most about Merlin's open admiration for all these women is that she's never once perceived him directing such a gaze at _her_.

She's never wanted for anything in her privileged life, and yet she finds herself longing for this boy's approval more than anything.

"Well," she says, dragging herself up to full height and offering a dazzling smile, "I best go claim my apple."

"Mm-hmm," he nods absently.

Realizing that she won't get any more sense out of him, she turns to go.

"Milady!"

Halfway down the corridor, she stops at the sound of his voice.

There's a pause, and then, "The kitchens can be a perilous place. Be blessed in your endeavors."

Fighting back a smirk, she murmurs, "Thank you, Merlin," before disappearing around the corner in a flutter of purple silks.

Her destination is not the kitchens, merely her chambers, but at breakfast the next morn, she finds she's lost her taste for apples.


	4. The Poisoned Chalice

A/N: Thanks to **TheKingsWard**, for suggesting this episode. :)

Also, I'm not one to beg for reviews, but it's a little annoying when people favorite without review. I'd love to hear what you think! So please take a moment to review, especially if you're going to favorite. :)

Happy premiere day! WOO!

* * *

"Stop! Don't drink it! It's poison!"

Morgana freezes at the shout, looks down at her own goblet as Merlin comes barreling into the banquet hall, distress on his face. There's shouting, and swords drawn, and angry looks thrown about, before anyone can make sense of anything.

A poisoned chalice, laced by Bayard, gifted to Arthur.

No one pays her any attention; all the eyes in the hall are fixed on Merlin. She recalls his accusation against Valiant, how he had proven his bravery and loyalty, though he was merely a servant. And there, there's that same steadfast look in his eye as he takes the cup from Uther, raises it to the head table.

He doesn't look at her, not directly, but she can't take her eyes off of him. Her heart speeds up, the pulse so rapid she can feel it racing beneath her skin. She wants to reach out and knock the goblet from his hand, wants to shout that this is madness, but she's never felt so utterly powerless. She's frozen, her feet rooted to the floor, one thought in her mind:

_I am going to watch my friend die._

Her heart constricts as he glances to Bayard and then back. "It's fine," he admits.

Uther callously gives him up to the Mercian king. She fights a shaking, weak feeling in her knees, because she will lose him still. After the accusation, Bayard will show no mercy.

She looks up when he coughs, finding him pressing a fist to his throat. His lips are pursed, his eyes squinty, and his shoulders heave as he tries to draw breath. He collapses to the floor, the goblet rolling from his limp fingers.

* * *

Once Gwen leaves, Morgana methodically takes the pins from her hair, and dark waves cascade down her neck. Her hands tremble as she sets down the delicate silver hair pins. The reflection in the mirror gives her pause. This is her nightly routine, but this night feels so different. Other times, she can take pleasure in the woman looking back at her. It's a woman who is confident in her beauty, in her passion, in the power she holds over others.

Now, though, she looks and sees only futility. She is not Gwen, with her kind soul and ability to see goodness in everyone, or hope in any situation. She is not Gaius, with his hoards of knowledge and his medical expertise. She is not Arthur, with his courage and nobility. And she is most definitely not Merlin, with his compassionate heart and his clumsiness and his big ears and his damn stubbornness.

No, she is a spoiled girl, one who has known nothing but wealth and prosperity, one who can do nothing but sit and wait as the life of a friend hangs in the balance.

_Friend_.

The word warms her, even as she's painfully aware of how little she deserves to use it in regards to herself. A _friend_ would be in the sickroom, not sitting alone in her chambers; a _friend_ would take the ache and transform it into something productive; a _friend_ would know what to do.

Now that Arthur's been warned against riding out to retrieve the antidote, she fears Merlin has lost all hope. He has only Gaius and Gwen left, who, for all their good intentions, are not miracle workers, can do nothing without the antidote.

He has her, too, but what is she good for? She is a pretty face, a persuasive tongue, nothing more. She raises her chin and looks defiantly into the mirror. She doesn't have much, but maybe what she has is enough.

* * *

Morgana walks through the moonlit corridor, slowing as she nears a window. The upper town is visible through the archway, and she can just see the rooftops, washed in silver and shadow. She lets out a deep breath. Arthur is probably out in the forest by now, riding hard to make up for the time he's lost. Her foster brother is a prat, and often misguided, but he has a good heart. He would never admit it, but he's growing fond of Merlin, would not be able to stand back and watch him die, especially after he drank poison in his place.

All he needed was a little prodding.

She swallows down all her fears and mindlessly continues on her way. Before she realizes, she's in front of Gaius's door. Her hesitation lasts but a moment, but no one answers when she knocks. She pushes it open a few inches to peer through the crack. Gaius is reclining in a chair, his head thrown back, his soft snores audible from the corridor. Gwen is nowhere to be found.

Silently, she slips inside the study and gracefully sits on the low stool beside Merlin's cot. He's unconscious and feverish, a sheen of sweat on his pallid face. The blanket covering him has slipped down, the edge nearly brushing the floor, and she lifts it and tucks it carefully around him. Her hands linger, fingertips hovering inches from his body, until she comes to a bold decision and rests one hand in his. Immediately, the tension in his fingers loosens, the crease in his brow disappears, and the ache in her heart lightens.

That feeling of futility once again eats at her, but she's done her part, and all anyone can do is await Arthur's return.

Squeezing his hand lightly, she leans forward and murmurs, "Get better, Merlin. People here depend on you, on your friendship, your loyalty. They need you to get better."

The door opens suddenly, and Morgana looks up, startled, as Gwen walks in, carrying a basin of fresh water.

She lets go of Merlin's hand.

"My lady," Gwen greets, equally surprised. She sets the basin down on the nearby table. "It is late."

Morgana stands and nods. "I know. I just came to see how he was," she says. Pressing her fingers into her handmaiden's, she adds, "Take good care of him, Gwen. He needs a friend like you."

Suddenly feeling as if she has intruded on a scene, a friendship, that she has no part in, she sweeps from the room.

She does not sleep that night, instead keeps an unnoticed vigil for an unobserved servant boy who has managed to endear himself to a gentle handmaiden, a spoiled prince, a discontent lady searching for purpose in her prosperous life.


	5. Goblin's Gold

A/N: While I enjoyed "Goblin's Gold" immensely, I was disappointed in the scene where Merlin gets arrested for sorcery in front of the court. Obviously Morgana would have a little more reaction than, "Oh, yay, he's _finally _going to die." This is my attempt to rectify that.

* * *

Morgana pauses and takes a deep breath before descending the steps to the dungeon.

This is all very ridiculous, and she has no business paying him any attention after the way he's treated her. Indeed, she's quite thrilled that he's gotten himself arrested and thrown into the dungeons. But there's still a nagging in her mind, as if she's been missing something that's been right in front of her eyes all this time.

So she gathers her wits and marches to his cell, where she finds the guard asleep and slumped in his chair.

She lets out a sigh. Such incompetence. And yet taking Camelot has proved so elusive, mostly thanks to the gawky servant staring at her from behind bars. He regards her cautiously, as well he should. He has a lot to account for, and she's determined to get the truth from him this time.

"Merlin," she greets dangerously, approaching the cell.

He's cowering in the corner, nearly hidden in shadows. But there's enough light from the torches for her to see the wariness in his eyes.

"What do you want, Morgana?" he asks, his voice quiet and almost calm. "To taunt me?"

The words open up a wound she thought she'd cauterized long ago. There was a time when they were allies, friends even, a time when they would have helped each other. She sometimes thinks she would have laid down her life for him; the connection was that deep. But now, now they simply take every possible opportunity to throw each other into the lions' den.

"Or does it bother you," he continues, "that Gaius could so easily do what you could not?"

Despite the pleasure she took in the sight of Merlin being dragged away by the castle guards, this is still the factor that bothers her most. Why Gaius, of all people? If the accusations were true, why wait until now to reveal the idiot boy's true nature? Why protect him for so long? As ludicrous as his goblin tale is, it's an easier one to swallow than the idea of Merlin - _Merlin!_ - being a sorcerer.

After all, wouldn't she have seen some sign before now? Wouldn't he, when he saw the pain she was in, have _said_ something? Reassured her, perhaps, that she wasn't the only one to live with this terrifying secret?

Plastering a scowl onto her face, she retorts, "It matters very little who sent you here, Merlin. All that matters is that you are here."

He frowns, and the hint of sadness in his gaze stirs up the ever-present anger inside her breast. What right does he have to pity her, to feel any sort of sadness for what she has become?

"Of course," he says, smiling ruefully to himself, "and it matters that an execution is imminent. Though, I confess, I would have thought you'd have more compassion on . . . on one of your own kind." He looks up sharply, his eyebrows contracting as he stares her down. His tone suddenly cautious, he asks, "That's what you've come for, isn't it?"

Swallowing, she curls her fingers around one of the cool iron bars. "After all this time, you don't think I deserve a few answers?"

His gaze still locked with hers, he rises to his feet, meets her at the door of the cell, and rests his hands on the barrier. He leans closer and says, "I'm not sure someone like you deserves anything."

A furious blush colors her normally pallid cheeks, and she clenches her fist as she staunches the urge to slap him. Sneering, she says, "One answer. Surely the infallible Merlin can spare that."

One answer, one 'yes,' would explain so much - the coincidences, the close calls, the secrets. The pain.

He tilts his head, resting his forehead against the bars. He's so close now that his exhalations puff against her cheek, and she can smell a hint of wine on his breath.

"Go ahead then. Ask."

She tightens her mouth and swallows her pride. "Is it true?" she breathes. "Do you have magic?"

Once the question is out, she holds her breath, almost unconsciously, in anticipation. He heaves a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and backs away from the bars. She can't quite read the expression in his eyes, a fusion of doubt and . . . sorrow, she thinks.

Finally, he sets his jaw and replies in a low voice, "No. It's not true."

She releases the lungful of air she'd been holding in, feeling an oppressive weight settle upon her soul. It would have been so simple if it had been true. An unattainable future flashes before her eyes, one in which they're allies instead of mortal enemies.

They stand there, facing each other, neither prepared to give ground. And she sees for the first time what she's lost in him. She recalls when they'd first met, when she was convinced that he was the essence of goodness and innocence. All of that has been a delusion though, an excruciating, damned delusion.

Fixing him with a cold gaze, cold enough to match the iciness of her new heart, she shuts down that heart, builds up the walls around it and fortifies the doors. And she turns her back on him, determined to never let him again.


End file.
